


Before It All, He Was Weak

by Pyrotechnics_Service



Category: Control (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Mental Instability, Not Beta Read, Stream of Consciousness, Suicide, The Hiss are manipulative jerks, Trench isn't in his right mind, if i don't post this now I never will so, man I am really stalling now, really confusing stream of consciousness probably, tbh it probably needs one but eh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-25 13:28:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30089814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pyrotechnics_Service/pseuds/Pyrotechnics_Service
Summary: Trench activates the projector and lives just long enough to regret it.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	Before It All, He Was Weak

It was clear, at least he thought it was. 

HEDRON was a threat to the Bureau, and as such, he needed to find a way to eliminate it.

It reinforced that.

The tracks worn into his mind, deep grooves that the horrible pleasant  **_screeeeeeee_ ** had long carved out agreed with him.

Kill HEDRON, kill Darling possibly?

No, not that, not yet. 

Darling was just misguided, but the Director couldn’t be.

He wouldn’t falter. He couldn’t. 

And it wouldn’t lead him wrong.

The Slide Projector was heavy in his hands. Too heavy. Had he really gotten that old?

No, he couldn’t have [weakened], it was just an Object Of Power. 

The Nostalgia Department was empty. It was early morning, the beginning of the day. When only the Director was in the House.

It trusted him, it let him enter. And he was grateful for that. 

He wouldn’t lead it astray.

He couldn’t. 

**_Screeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee_ ** deep in his mind

**_It wouldn’t lead him astray either, would it?_ **

**_It wouldn’t let him be weak._ **

* * *

The Projector didn’t need to be plugged in, it was just a matter of putting in the correct slide.

Which he had, he’d always had. Right in his breast pocket, safe, where he could watch over it. 

His fingers trembled and wobbled in getting it out. Like a feeble old  _ man, still clinging to his job with one foot in the nursing home-- _

He  **made** them work.

It slid in easily, and 

_ Click _ . 

The Projector started. 

At first, it was only vague red shapes on the wall. Strange dancing occlating shapes, shot through with black. 

**_Yes yes good job Director, you did so so good, you protected everyone._ **

Red stains, spilled through the white surface, like blood being dropped into water.

**_Thank you, thank you Director, thank you for fulfilling your duty, for doing it so good._ **

The sound started, the endless  **_screeeeeeee_ ** , and for once, it was audible to others, others other then him. 

He could feel it. Feel it begin to permeate him.

It was terrible and wonderful and burrowed into his body and let him relax for the first time in years

The red grew deeper, larger, into 3D, a hole of nothingness and angry angry red, and the House began to shift.

It was an angry shift, a painful shift.

He didn’t worry about it. 

Healing was always painful at first. Getting over things was always painful. 

Sometimes you never got over them [Suzanna, my sunshine, I’m sorry]

But this, this was good for the House, it would flush HEDRON out. 

A vaccine, flushing the poison out of the body. 

The  **_screeeeeeee_ ** affirmed this, **_yes, yes this was good._ **

He’d always  **_been the new him_ ** ? Hm? Yes? Right? 

He didn’t have to worry anymore.

The Director had done hiss job. 

It was a nice feeling, a good feeling to finally grasp. 

Not weak, not ineffective. 

So so nice.

* * *

Somehow, he ended up back at his Place.

His office.

The station of the Director.

It was routine, really.

Sit down, glance at paperwork (nothing), glance at coffee (almost empty), think.

Soon HEDRON would be dead, and the Bureau would be safe. Yes, yes, he’d done his job well.

The  **_screeeeeeee_ ** said that yes, yes, this was the right course of action. That he’d kept everyone safe, everyone okay, and now soon Darling would come grovelling back to him and parroting all these things

I’m sorry for doubting you, Trench. 

I’m sorry I brought an obvious threat into the Bureau, Trench. 

I’m sorry I questioned the Director’s authority, Trench. Yes, I agree, the Research sector should be kept in check more. Or course I’ll take a budget cut and downsized workspace.

But if he was being honest, it didn’t feel like a victory. 

The lockdown lights had begun pulsing when he entered the Executive Sector, and they hadn’t let up yet.

Surely, HEDRON must be destroyed by now. If his calculations were correct. 

The Service Weapon was on his desk, and on a whim, he picked it up. 

Almost on a dare. 

He inspected it a while, the deep creases in the barrel, the comfortable grip. 

The impulse came, to hold it back up against his head, and he wasn’t sure where it came from. 

Was it over with, was he done now? Was the Director’s work done?

He didn’t know. 

**Prime Candidate within building** .

He paused at that. The desperate, panicked House alert.

Prime Candidate, P6? No, that couldn’t be, it wasn’t possible. He’d have to leave and come back, and--

P7.

7, that girl. 

Why was she here? 

If she was here--

**_No, no, you did your job, keep doing job, Director, it’s your duty, it’s your job,_ **

He was still tired. He realized that, that deep fact now.

So so tired. 

Tired of this job. Tired of duty. Tired of this obsession. 

The House was safe, but he wouldn’t be here much longer.

If P7 had her way. 

And it wasn’t 

Images flashed across his mind, of that redhead shooting him, 

Red starbursts flying from his head, him slumping in his chair.

They were old images, images he remembered from before. 

Before the hard, comforting  **_screeeeeeee_ **

[When I’d entertained weak thoughts, selfish thoughts, thoughts of depression and death]

And their allure was back.

**_Director, your job, your duty, please Director, help us, help us against HEDRON DIRECTOR_ **

The voices grew louder, harsher, drowning out his thoughts.

He wasn’t sure which was him or it and he was spiralling. Drowning in red, thick black, sops and bits of red and black and desperation.

He’d done the wrong thing, hadn’t he? Hadn’t he?! This wasn’t kind anymore! This wasn’t safe! Darling, Darling you were right, help, help!

(It’s okay daddy.) Her voice,

(Go ahead.) His sunshine,

(Let go.) His reasons for doing this

He kept everyone safe for her.

His knuckles were white, ground down to the bone from doing this so long and he wasn’t even sure if he did the right thing.

He would not abandon the job, the duty, the mess to the next Director.

(Please let go)

(Come back to me)

**_DIRECTOR STAY STAY WITH US_ **

**_DIRECTOR HEDRON HELP US DO YOUR JOB_ **

(Daddy please come back)

(please)

A laugh wormed his way out of his mouth.

It was exhausted, broken, and he wasn’t even sure if it belonged to him. 

He couldn’t do it anymore. 

This job, he couldn’t do it.

It’d leeched him dry, gave him nothing.

Made him turn to thiss for help

Darling, Darling, brought HEDRON in, pushed him further.

In the end, you always become what you hated, he guessed.

Obsolete

Ineffective

[Weak]

**_DIRECTOR STAY_ ** **_  
_ ** **_DIRECTOR WAIT_ **

**_DIRECTOR DON’T BETRAY US_ **

**_DIRECTOR DO YOUR JOB_ **

(daddy come back to me)

[I’m coming darling]

The muzzle was cold, but he barely felt it. 

The trigger was pulled.

And his weakness sprayed all over the walls of the office.

**Author's Note:**

> Finally, something for Control! And it's-- just as confusing as my other work, yayyyyyy.....
> 
> But yeah I hoped you liked that chaotic view into Trench's mind. I kinda like this old guy, so writing a window into post-Hiss infection was interesting. Hope it turned out semi-coherent, I know it's a bit hard to follow.
> 
> Anyway, time to retreat into my YouTube cocoon for another two months :)
> 
> (also all double s misspellings are intentional don't correct me I'm subtle sometimes I guess)


End file.
